


The world, it seems, gets more unkind. Inevitable tragedy will soon be mine.

by nervousn8



Series: Found Family Amongst Gods [1]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Attachment, Found Family, Gods & Magic, How Do I Tag, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Now with a chapter two fix-it!, Technoblade-centric (Video Blogging RPF), Tommy Lives, fuck c!dream, i guess, its minecraft but i made it have feelings, musty bitch, using technos narrative for the sbi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-11 07:48:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28467807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nervousn8/pseuds/nervousn8
Summary: Losing mortals should not hurt this badly. Developing attachment to mortals was foolish, and Technoblade was no fool. He held no love for things that would disappear.(This is a lie.)
Relationships: Technoblade & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Technoblade & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot & Technoblade
Series: Found Family Amongst Gods [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2094159
Comments: 32
Kudos: 790
Collections: Dream SMP Fics To Fill The Void In My Soul





	1. Evanescet

It was commonplace, some would say, not to get attached to mortals.

They grow old while you don’t, and they die while you don’t. 

They are also irrevocably, undeniably stupid. 

In the beginning, when Gods were still needed, it made sense to be fond of those who worshipped you. There were fewer mortals to keep track of, and fewer mortals meant less conflict, and less conflict meant- well, less conflict. The mortals of old were easily manipulated. They did exactly what they were supposed to do when their respective God decreed it, and all was well.

But as mortals multiplied, as they changed, they became more and more annoying. They felt they needed the Gods less, and eventually seemed to forget they existed at all. Which, truly, was fine. They couldn’t be a bother -intentionally- if they didn’t know Gods existed. 

And for a time, things were good.

Growing attached to mortals is a mistake in and of itself. They are small, and they are breakable, and they leave an immeasurable amount of heartache in their wake when they inevitably die a stupid, preventable death. This is why it was just supposed to be the two of them: The Blood God, and The God of Death. Old friends in each lifetime, until the end of time.

But Phil has always been fond of mortals. He’s found them small and fascinating since the beginning of their existence, and The Blood God feels as though he should have expected something like this from his friend. 

Something like adopting two little boys off the streets and raising them as his sons. Something like laying claim to their very souls, tying them to his for the rest of eternity. 

He didn’t expect it, though, because while Phil has always been fond of mortals, he has never been stupid like them. He has never been impulsive like they are, attaching to something on a whim. So it comes as a surprise when, on a typical visit that really shouldn’t be any different from any others, a small child with curly brown hair and wide eyes stares up at Techno from behind Phil’s wings.

He can feel the claim radiating off of the little boy from where he stands. 

The child is a hindrance, keeping Phil tied to the little cabin at the edge of the woods day in and day out. Their planned excursions are put on hold in favor of raising the tiny musician. 

And Techno likes him, oddly enough.

Maybe it’s just because so much of the kid’s presence is shrouded in Phil’s magic -something Techno has found comfort in- but the little boy (Wilbur, he learns) worms his way into The Blood God’s frigid heart. Wilbur writes him songs and shows him the bugs he finds, tells him all of his big plans. He bubbles with excitement at the front door every time Techno returns, sitting on Phil’s shoulders with a grin.

The second mortal Phil claims, the frail blond boy who is too loud, Techno does not like.

_(This is a lie.)_

He can feel the second claim, red where Wilbur’s had been blue, as he comes up the sparse gravel path. Tommy is far smaller than Wilbur, younger, too, but so incredibly loud. He scares the birds away, scares the bugs, shouts and brandishes his tiny wooden sword like he can challenge the world, and Techno does not like him.

But, _oh,_ does he like Techno.

He dubs him ‘The Blade’, shrill voice demanding he be taught how to fight, whacking away at The Blood God’s armored shins until he finally relents. Tommy is terrible at sparring, but Tommy is also five. He tires quickly and curls himself up against Techno’s side as though he belongs there, and he sleeps. Technoblade can do nothing but watch.

You’re not supposed to get attached to mortals. It is common knowledge that they will grow old and they will die while you remain exactly as you have always been. It is common knowledge and even still- it hurts. _It hurts._

He can feel the shift in the very fabric of the world as Phil drives a shining sword through Wilbur’s chest. 

Techno does not form attachments to things that will disappear. He is smarter than that, better than that, he is everything anyone could ever want to be and more. He does not form attachments to things that will disappear- _except._

The out of tune twang of a freshly crafted guitar. Loud laughter. Two sets of small hands and wide eyes. Mortals. _Children._

_Except._

Wilbur does not stay gone for very long, but he is not all he once was, either. The claim Phil laid upon his soul, attaching him to himself for eternity, does exactly that. He is a husk of who he used to be, but he is still here, because he has been claimed. He cannot leave.

The Blood God does not like him. 

_(This is a lie.)_

This world that has driven one of Phil’s mortals to madness is a place Technoblade no longer wishes to stay, but he cannot leave, either. He is tethered here by the very thing he frowns upon so heavily- the very issue that has led to the downfall of so many worlds before this. Attachment. He is attached to Phil’s mortals. 

Dream -The Chaos God- has doomed his world from the moment he made it. Coming here was a mistake. Coming when Phil’s mortals called him was a mistake, but there was no way he couldn’t. Technoblade does not make mistakes. The Blood God does not form attachments to things that will disappear. 

_Except._

When Techno first met Tommy, he was small, and he was frail, and he was dirty. But he was not afraid. His eyes had shone with barely contained enthusiasm at any given moment. He lit up every room he entered, even if that light was more from frustration than amusement. He was the center of attention no matter where he went or what he did. 

He was small, and he was frail, and he was dirty. But he was never afraid. Techno doesn’t know what to do now that he is.

Gods are set in their ways. While humans are ever-evolving, ever-changing and unendingly frustrating, Gods remain the same. They rarely change. They are bound by favor, by history, by blood. The Blood God does not change.

_(This is a lie.)_

When he finds Tommy in his own retirement home, small and frail and dirty, and so, _so_ afraid, the voices do not beg he be slain. Instead, they croon for the blood of his captor, the blood of another God, because it will be sweeter. The vengeance will make it divine. The craving would be satiated at his own hands, and everything would go back to being peaceful. No more stress, no more failed executions, no more house arrest, no more abuse. Just The Blood God, and his friend, and the mortal. 

But Gods are bound by favor, and the Chaos God comes to collect what is rightfully his.

_He isn’t his. He is Phil’s. Phil laid claim to Tommy, and Techno knows Dream can sense this, but that does not mean Dream cares. This is his world, after all. It does not matter that Gods older than he could ever be, stronger and in possession of more power than he will ever know, are involved. Because this is his world, and what he says, goes._

Dream stops them in the Nether after declining the favor. He says he’s changed his mind, and he wants it now. 

He says, “Give him back.” He does not say, “Let me keep him.”

And The Blood God does. He ignores the crescendo of screaming within his own head, ignores the red that bleeds into the edges of his vision, and he tells Tommy to go. Where the boy may have protested in his youth, now there is nothing. No sound, no anger. He is afraid.

Technoblade gives him back with every intention of reclaiming him- reclaiming Phil’s mortal. _Ours,_ the voices cry, but he does not listen. 

They should have discussed it. He figures that out in mere moments. 

This is the problem with growing attached to mortals. You believe them predictable, believe them level-headed and resilient. You hold them to the same standards as you hold yourself without truly meaning to. You forget that they are ever-changing, even when that is something you admire most about them. You forget that they are soft, and they are frail, and they are so very afraid. In that forgetfulness, in that peace of mind that they will do exactly as you would, they surprise you.

Dull blue eyes turn back to him for just a moment, and all of the air leaves The Blood God as though he’s just been plowed over. Where there had been signs of life and hope not moments before, there is nothing. Those eyes that had shone brightly up at him in their youth are washed out and empty. There are no signs of life in the frail, frightened boy.

Techno lurches, reaching out with a hand that will never make it, and the voices _scream._

Tommy takes two steps to the right, and he falls. Plummets headfirst off the shabby cobblestone bridge he’d made all that time ago. Disappears in the bubbling orange liquid without a trace.

He had forgotten, in his planning, that mortals were not built to withstand what Tommy had gone through. That some would rather die than return to those who had hurt them. He had forgotten because it hurt to look- because _except-_ because _ours._

Two Gods remain, silent and shell-shocked, on the poorly crafted cobblestone bridge. 

The message of death pings across their communicators, but the devices are unneeded. 

The very air erupts into sound, bleeding and cracked, shattering the fragile world the Chaos God had barely taped together, as a father mourns his final son in the snow.


	2. Amare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What if Technoblade had told Tommy of the favor? What if they'd discussed it instead of the Blood God assuming?
> 
> What if Tommy was saved?
> 
> Well, in this one, he is.

* * *

It would be so easy to leave him out in the snow. 

Technoblade does not care for the lives of mortals. The Blood God slays them with his bare hands, leaving behind fatal liters of blood spilled across countless battlefields. He does not care for their lives, and it would be so easy to leave Tommy out there, on his bench, in the snow.

Techno does not care about Tommy. Tommy is a burden, but he is a means to an end as well. He is useful, and that is it. Aside from the reclaiming of his armor and minor terrorism, Tommy has no value to the Blood God. He is, as he has always been, a hindrance.

_(This is a lie.)_

Tommy is Phil’s only remaining mortal. While Techno may not value him beyond personal gain, Techno will always value Phil. And without Phil here to bring his mortal in from the snow, the job falls on his large, already burdened shoulders. 

It is funny, really, how fond of such a small life The God of _Death_ is. It seems as though it would go against his very nature, but Phil has never been one to follow what others believe he should. He is one of the oldest Gods, alongside those such as Clara -The Goddess of Space and Time- and he has not once been predictable. 

Technoblade will never admit that that is one of the many reasons he is so fond of his friend. 

There are burns on the left side of Tommy’s face. They’ve healed in the time since Techno found him dying of frostbite beneath his basement, but they are still there. He’s partially deaf in his left ear now, too. It’s just another reminder of how fragile mortals truly are; how breakable they can be when placed in the wrong hands. The Chaos God will always be the wrong hands, and just the thought of him has rage boiling in Techno’s chest. 

He broke Phil’s mortal. He broke both of them. And in breaking his mortals, he also fractured a part of Phil, and the Blood God refuses to let that stand. Dream will pay for what he’s done.

After the favor, of course. Technoblade can do nothing to Dream until he cashes in his favor.

Tommy does not respond when he calls for him; he doesn’t even twitch. His eyes are far off and unfocused when Techno finally reaches him, but they are not glassy like they were when he was dying in Techno’s bed, so the Blood God does not worry. He reaches down and takes Tommy’s limp hand in his own, pulls him up, and slowly leads him back to the cottage. His thin fingers are cold, but they are not stiff like they were when he’d been dying. His breaths, though soft, are strong. He is not dying.

Mortals are so fragile, their psyche easily damaged beyond repair, and Techno only finds it irritating. Tommy’s fragility does nothing but irk him.

_(This is a lie.)_

Dream visited earlier that day, asking Technoblade if he’d seen Tommy. The Blood God had had to make his presence as large and loud as possible to cover the claim Phil has on Tommy, though he doubts it worked. Dream had lingered too long near the box where Tommy was hidden with invisibility. 

Tommy is still recovering. 

The Blood God _seethes._

“Tommy,” he starts once they’ve made it inside, testing the words on his tongue before he says anything. He is not built for comfort or sugarcoating. Tommy turns to look up at him, eyes finally holding just that much more color and awareness. “Don’t talk until I’m done talking.”

“What!” Tommy cries, fire back behind his eyes, and Techno sighs.

“Shut up and listen.” The boy sputters more, but eventually, he sinks into the other chair by the fireplace, wrapping himself in Techno’s old cape. He makes no move to speak again, and the Blood God continues. “I owe Dream a favor.”

Tommy’s face pales considerably. He knows how favors bind Gods the same way claims bind mortals, and he is far from stupid.

“I wouldn’t have accepted his favor had I known you were hiding with my stolen things under my own basement, but it’s too late for that now. So now I owe Dream a favor, and I only have one thing he wants.”

Mortals are flighty creatures. Tommy sinks further into the plush chair, grasping so tightly at the cape that his already pale knuckles go white. “You- you’re going to give me back?” His voice cracks, and tears swell in his eyes, and something Techno refuses to acknowledge burns inside his chest at the sight. “You’re going to let him take me?”

Tommy is Phil’s. Tommy’s soul has been tied to Phil’s very being since he was five years old. Techno refuses to let this poorly taped together world ruin another one of Phil’s mortals. He refuses to let Dream hurt his friend again, no matter how indirectly it may have been the first time.

“If that’s what he wants me to do, then yes.” This is the wrong thing to say. Tommy looks as though he’s been shattered. “But Theseus, _I will not let him keep you._ He has no claim on you, no right to you. He has _nothing._ Do you understand?”

“You won’t let him keep me?” Tommy asks, voice cracking and high. He scrubs the tears and snot away from his face with the cape, and Techno has to refrain from cringing when the sheen of it reflects in the firelight.

“I won’t.”

“You’ll get me back?”

“I will.”

It’s quiet aside from the crackling of the fire and the gentle noises of Edward for a moment, and then Tommy shifts to face away from Techno. “You promise?” He asks, voice soft and insecure.

The Blood God hates Dream for what he’s done to Phil’s mortal. The voices demand his blood.

“I promise.” It is hard for Technoblade to speak softly, but he does his best to match Tommy’s tone. 

Tommy turns to him then, a smug grin spreading across his face even as tears still shine on his cheeks. “You _like_ me!” He exclaims, jabbing a triumphant finger in Techno’s direction. “Scary Technoblade likes little brother Tommy!”

“I do _not.”_

_(This is a lie.)_

\-----

Dream stops them in the Nether after declining the favor. He says he’s changed his mind, and he wants it now. 

He says, “Give him back.” He does not say, “Let me keep him.”

And The Blood God does. He ignores the crescendo of screaming within his own head, ignores the red that bleeds into the edges of his vision, and he tells Tommy to go. Where the boy may have protested in his youth, now there is nothing. No sound, no anger. He is afraid.

Technoblade gives him back with every intention of reclaiming him- reclaiming Phil’s mortal. _Ours,_ the voices cry, but he does not listen. He does not have time to listen to their pleas, their rage, and instead must remain neutral. He can’t give himself away.

Tommy looks back at him with wide eyes, gray where they should be blue, and he positively _trembles._ He’s trying to stay strong as he walks stiffly toward Dream, and he’s doing as fine as he can. His fear is palpable, dancing across his shoulder blades where they’re hidden under the cape he refuses to take off. 

His poorly constructed courage crumbles the moment Dream’s hand locks in a vice grip around his frail wrist.

“Techno!” Tommy sobs, trying his best to wrench his hand out of Dream’s grip. “Techno _please-”_

His voice cracks, splintering the minute control the Blood God has on his already crumbling restraint. He knows he’s failing to reel it in, knows Dream knows, because the blank smiley mask slowly turns to look back at him.

Techno can hear the sound of Tommy’s wrist bones cracking under the pressure of Dream’s hand.

He sees red.

Tommy goes silent almost immediately, retreating into the same shell he’d been in all that time ago when he finally healed enough to be aware that Techno had found him. Back when he was still a skittish animal, jumping at every noise, flinching at every raised voice or too heavy step. Back when Techno, unused to mortals and how they worked, believed him useless. Lazy. He knows better, now. He’s learned.

The Blood God has _changed,_ and he _seethes._

“You’ve gone soft, Technoblade.” Dream taunts, voice mocking. “A mortal? How pathetic.”

_Blood for The Blood God,_ the voices cry, drowning everything else from within his mind. _Save him. Ours. Õ̵̜û̶͚r̴̖̄s̴̡̛.̶͇̐_

“And what of you, Dream? Your mortals?” He delights in the jump of The Chaos God’s shoulders, and the voices hiss their agreement. “All you wanted was to be loved, and look where you are now. _Homeless.”_

“I have a house!” Dream cries, dropping Tommy’s wrist in favor of stalking forward. He’s seething, on the defense, shoulders bunched and fists clenched. His axe materializes in his hand. 

The Blood God grins down at him, venom on his tongue and hatred in his veins. “We both know I’m not talking about any kind of structure.” The Chaos God falters, and Technoblade pounces. “They _hate you,_ yet you cling to them. You have this delusion that if you do _just enough,_ if you make it all the way it should be, they’ll take you back. Who’s pathetic now?”

The air is heavy with tension and power, both Gods posturing over each other, trying to overwhelm. Tommy makes a small choking noise from where he’s slinking away, flinching each and every time Dream moves. 

“They’ll take me back.” Dream mutters, voice angry. “As soon as I fix everything, they’ll take me back.”

“Touching,” Techno snarls, sarcasm like poison on his tongue, and Dream lunges.

He parries him easily, and if he weren’t being fed by the bloodlust that’s been living in his veins for months on end, he would laugh at how easy it is to rile the Chaos God into attacking him. But this is the excuse for blood he wanted. Dream attacked _him,_ and now the favor is fulfilled, and there is nothing holding him back from putting Dream in his place.

Because yes, this is Dream’s world. Yes, what Dream says here is supposed to go. But Dream has made the fatal mistake of inserting himself into places he does not belong- has made the mistake of incurring the wrath of Technoblade, God of War, self-proclaimed Blood God. He will bleed by Techno’s hands, and the voices will cheer, and everything will go back to being the way it should be.

He vaults over Dream, placing himself between the Chaos God and Tommy as Dream heaves to catch his breath. Techno stands ready, sword in hand, shield angles just so to cover Tommy when he wedges himself against the Blood God’s side, peering around his shoulder. One of his hands latches onto Techno’s cape, and the other pulls the Axe of Peace from Techno’s belt. Pride rolls down Technoblade’s shoulders in waves.

The porcelain of Dream’s mask, though likely enchanted with unbreaking, has splintered. Only a corner of his mouth is visible, and a thin line of blood mars the corner.

“The favor, Technoblade,” Dream hisses, tense with rage. He does not like to be bested.

“You see, Dream,” Techno drawls, voice bland even as his insides roil with seas of molten anger, even as his head sings with the promise of vengeance. “I gave you Tommy already. Not my fault you couldn’t keep him under control.”

Dream moves to lunge again, and Techno levels the sword at his throat. “Think very, _very_ carefully about your next move.” 

He doesn’t get the chance, though, because two feet come out of nowhere and knock Dream clean off the bridge with a solid kick to the head. He disappears into the lava below, and Phil touches down with two powerful wingbeats, visibly seething.

“Are you both alright?” Phil asks them, shaking out his shoulders and wings. As the feathers ruffle, Ghostbur emerges from the plethora of souls that linger amidst them. “I came as soon as I could.”

“Hello, Tommy! Techno!” The ghost says, floating over to greet them. 

“We’re fine, Phil.”

_Dream tried to swim in lava to escape Ph1LzA_

Tommy makes a soft noise as the death message pings across their communicators, but he does not let go of the Techno’s axe nor cape. His knuckles are white, and he continues to peer over the edge of the bridge at where Dream disappeared.

“Could we go home?” Ghostbur asks, voice somehow echoing even more in the cavernous expanse of the nether. “It’s quite hot down here, you’re going to sweat terribly.”

Phil hovers near Tommy’s side, and the mortal boy lets go of Techno’s cape to sequester himself underneath his adoptive father’s wing. 

“I need to brush Carl, anyway,” Techno answers, keeping the attention off Phil’s mortal, and he begins to lead the way back to the tundra.

\-----

“Thank you,” Tommy murmurs, sleep slurred words muffled by Techno’s shoulder. It’s late, and Tommy should’ve been asleep ages ago. 

The excessive physical contact is making Techno uncomfortable now that he isn’t using it to make sure Tommy is safe from Dream, but he refrains from saying anything. The sooner the kid goes to sleep, the sooner he can get up and _do something_ about the adrenaline still thrumming beneath his skin.

“Don’t mention it,” the Blood God rumbles, refusing to look away from his novel as he feigns nonchalance. “Seriously. Don’t.”

“Bitch.” It is whispered, barely audible over the crackle of the fireplace, but Phil snickers from his place on the other side of Tommy anyway. Tommy drops off to sleep without another word.

Technoblade has never, and will never like mortals. He tolerates Phil’s because they are _Phil’s,_ regardless of what the voices hiss to him each and every time Tommy is so much as in his presence. Techno dislikes Tommy. He is and always will be a nuisance, and he is only kept around for personal gain.

The Blood God holds no love for things that will disappear.

_(This is a lie.)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ask and you shall receive my friends. if y'all care about this one, you can thank Hitoshi for asking about it. I already had this chapter prewritten when I posted the first one, I just never really got around to posting the second part because I got too caught up in my other ideas for the series.
> 
> this one probably isn't worded as well, and i don't like describing fight sequences, but i hope it was good anyway. might as well give y'all an alternate ending

**Author's Note:**

> i was vibin in the dark and my brain said "hey so what if-" 
> 
> I've changed my mind about this being anonymous bc i was being a lil bitch earlier and also i kind of want to add to this so 
> 
> if i decide i don't want the block men associated with my account then sucks to suck


End file.
